First Steps

by: Whomping Willow

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Don't sue.

***

Chapter ten: Important Questions ~


Severus Snape, Potions Master, stalked down the dim stone corridors of Hogwarts with his robes billowing behind. He had stalked these halls since he was a student himself and they had helped him process his thoughts whenever they became disjointed. Tonight was no exception.

Harry Potter had once again taken him by surprise, readily accepting the Headmaster's proposal of renewing their Occlumency lessons. They both had anticipated an argument over the matter, perhaps even a thrown bedpan, but instead Potter had readily complied with the Headmaster's request without batting an eye. Potter couldn't have botched his plans any better if he had been forewarned. Snape had been counting on Potter's reluctance and eventual refusal in order to avoid another row with Dumbledore, but by accepting the lessons without argument he was now left with no other option but to teach the brat. It was as though Potter knew what he had planned and wanted Snape to suffer. If it weren't for the boy's miserable Divinations grade, he might suspect he was hiding some precognitive gift.

Whatever was going through Potter's feeble mind that made him comply, without argument for once, Snape considered it incredibly bad timing. The boy had been acting peculiarly since he had arrived at Hogwarts and despite the proof that it was indeed Potter and not an imposter, the Potions Master was curious about the origin of the change. Couldn't he just be predictable for once . . . ?

Snape did have one consolation . . . the look on Potter's face when he confirmed that he would not be teaching him Potions this year was priceless. The look of resignation, with a touch of despair . . . he hoped it would be a while before the news broke of his new position as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Yes, after far too many years of patience, the Headmaster had finally relented and convinced the Ministry, receiving approval for Snape to take the position as DADA Professor. There were of course stipulations to be followed, but most of them had little or nothing to do with the professor himself.

He would finally have his chance to prove himself to those who had doubted him, and whatever professor takes over teaching potions can take with it the responsibility of restocking Poppy's potions stores, as well as protecting the likes of Longbottom from their own stupidity.

Perhaps a review of grindylows would be appropriate for the sixth-years . . . if he couldn't mock Potter's disgraceful attempts at potions brewing at least he could recount his pathetic escape from the grindylows for those unfortunate enough to be lacking the details. That would be enough to keep him from the pedestal his peers so gladly place him upon and down closer to the gutter in which he belonged.

Perhaps another year of Occlumency lessons with Potter wouldn't be so bad after all . . .

***

The next morning Harry was feeling even more refreshed. Madam Pomfrey had allowed him to take a real bath, which was delightful after the 'less than refreshing' cleansing charms. There was just something about a hot bath that no mere charm could replace. That also allowed Harry his first opportunity to see the extent of the damage that had been done. His eyes traveled from one half healed wound to another, suddenly understanding why the thestral had been drawn to him.

He didn't remember the blood . . . only the cold, the fear and the pain.

When Harry stood up from the cooling bath water, his vision blurred and he staggered unsteadily on his feet. It was moments such as this that Harry was reminded that even with magic it still took time to heal serious wounds. His body was weak and his limbs felt heavy after the long soak.

He struggled through his bout of dizziness, into fresh pyjamas and finally the hospital bed. He savored the smell of clean sheets as he pulled them up under his chin. Feeling more relaxed than he'd felt all summer, sleep came easily.

Though it had been a few hours, it felt as though his eyes had just drifted shut when the clamor in the hallway announcing the arrival of the Weasleys woke him. They burst through the double doors noisily, and all but ran to Harry's side. It seemed the entire Weasley clan, except Percy, was gathered at his bedside. Hermione pushed her way to the front beside Ron.

The noise died down as everyone got their first look at Harry, who yawned sleepily. His tired eyes warmed considerably when he smiled. He had thought about what he wanted to say to his friends, apologies for the bloody note, and all the halfhearted correspondences before that, but the words fled and all he could do was smile and hope they would understand.

"Harry dear, how are you feeling?" Molly Weasley started only to be interrupted by Ron.

"How did you end up here?! You had us so bloody worried . . ."

"Ronald," Molly chided, both for the language and her son's scolding tone.

Turning back in time to witness Harry's wince, his own expression softened. "Sorry mate, but you had us so worried. Where were you? The Daily Prophet only said you fled for safety and are now in Dumbledore's care . . ."

The mention of the Prophet started Harry wondering just what the paper had been saying in his absence. Did they think he destroyed the house himself or that he had run off because he was in league with Voldemort? He wouldn't put it past Rita Skeeter to write that, or something equally scathing about him, despite the more flattering articles that had appeared after the incident at the Ministry.

The room filled with the voices of redheads again drawing his attention back to the present and the question Ron had asked. "I flew to the Cauldron first, but there were dementors there, so I changed plans and flew here. Sorry I couldn't invite you along," he added cheekily.

Molly informed Ron in no uncertain terms that his punishment for flying to Hogwarts in his second-year would be nothing compared to what he would get if he were to repeat the dangerous deed. She was not about to see that flight become an annual event. Ron's older siblings however shared devious smiles.

At some point Hermione had sat down on the edge of the bed and took Harry's hand, but when that happened he couldn't be sure. He was curious about her silence, knowing she would want to scold him along with Ron. When he looked up, her eyes were brimming with tears she was fighting not to spill. Finally she gave up the fight. She collapsed onto Harry's shoulder, body shaking with unrestrained sobs. She was murmuring about how they'd worried and feared the worst.

Harry froze at the contact. He braced for pain that didn't come, and finally managed to pat her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. He found Ron's hand also busy at the task of calming their distraught friend. Looking at the faces surrounding his bed, Harry encountered many faces as grief-stricken as Hermione's.

"I was only gone for two days – I think. You didn't think I wasn't coming back, did you?" The looks that met him confirmed it; they had all feared the worst.

"Harry, the first reports said . . . they led us to believe . . ." Molly's tears choked off her words so Fred continued for her.

"Witnesses saw Death Eaters drag someone out of the house, and it was assumed that it had been you. It wasn't till we got your note that there was any real hope."

". . . and then Snape confirmed that you had escaped," finished George.

By the time George had finished Hermione had collected herself, now sniffing and red-eyed.

"As soon as Pomfrey gives the go-ahead, you'll be coming back to Grimmauld with us. We can give you your birthday presents."

Harry had forgot all about his birthday in the confusion. He was sixteen. No car, no proud father, so unlike his cousin . . . but what Harry did have were friends, a surrogate family of redheads and his life.

Madam Pomfrey saw Harry was looking a bit peaky and rounded up his visitors, promising they could return. For now she wanted Harry to get some rest. They left noisily, shouting their farewells over their shoulders as Pomfrey herded them out the doors.

She checked Harry over once again, seemingly unsatisfied with his rate of recovery, but thankfully she brought him lunch instead of more potions. When that was done, she tucked him in, making him feel both childish and safe. Harry drifted off to sleep still snickering over the mediwitch's mothering.

His dreams started happily for once. Sirius was smiling, laughter spilling from his mouth and dancing in his eyes, and Harry joined him. It felt so good to laugh, despite the fact that he didn't know what they were laughing about. Sirius ruffled a hand through Harry's hair and pulled him closer in a half hug. "You remind me so much of your father. He'd be so proud . . ." Harry heard the words spoken with sincerity and warmth and wanted to believe them. In his heart he felt empty and undeserving of such praise. He wanted to speak, to ask what there was to fuel his father's pride, but his throat tightened. Sirius stepped back, fading from his view and Harry strode forward not yet ready to end the conversation. He was met with darkness and ambled aimlessly until he felt another sharing the emptiness.

"Sirius – Sirius," he called into the void, but got no response. "Sirius, please. I need you." Laughter rang in the darkness and Harry pursued it, seeking its source.

"Potter," a familiar voice echoed in the silence. The voice was harsh and sent a chill through his bones. "Little baby Potter still looking for forgiveness or is it vengeance you seek?" Bellatrix was emerging from the darkness and Harry scrambled to remember why he shouldn't be afraid.

"Have you learned your lesson? Do you understand the secrets to Cruciatus yet?" Harry let silence be his answer, which left his godfather's murderer in a nasty mood. "Let me instruct you . . . Crucio!"

Fire lit in his veins and his mouth opened in a silent scream. He was shaking. The shadows murmured words unintelligibly as his pulse pounded in his ears. Harry could feel arms restraining him as the curse was lifted. Bellatrix's cackling laughter was silenced as she cast the curse again.

Harry's body went rigid, body arching off the floor. A sickening crack, and his newly mended clavicle snapped in two. Darkness approached. His mother's screams joined the pounding in his ears. The sightless eyes and gaping mouth of a dementor were mere inches away from his face, its acrid breath filling his nostrils as its presence stole the warmth from his very bones. His restrained arms were useless, unable to grasp his wand or prevent the smooth cold lips from touching his own.

His mouth filled with wetness and he vaguely sensed someone urging him not to fight it. The taste was bitter, but who would expect death to be sweet. Bellatrix was gone. No more laughter echoed in the darkness.

The wetness was choking him . . . he couldn't fight it any longer . . . he gave up and swallowed, accepting death, but death did not take him. He gasped for breath when the restraining hands shook him and his eyes finally saw the room before him.

Harry was in the hospital wing, as before, as always. His mother's screams were gone, although the pain had intensified.

Remus and Snape were on opposite sides of the bed clinging to his trembling arms while Madam Pomfrey was stretched awkwardly over his legs. In Snape's hand was an empty potions vial and Harry was sure its contents had tasted bitter, like death.

"Harry?" Remus looked intently into weary green eyes, asking a hundred questions without saying anything more.

"M'okay." The bright light made his eyes tear, and he hoped the professors wouldn't think he was crying.

"I highly doubt that young man," said Pomfrey as she warily lifted herself off Harry's legs. She examined his condition carefully before leaving to fetch more potions.

"I see now why you accepted the offer of Occlumency lessons. It appears that you are as available to the Dark Lord now as ever." Professor Snape had also released his grip on Harry, and his sneer was visible even before his vision cleared.

Harry cleared his throat. He was still shaken from his dream and was having difficulty interpreting the Headmaster's expression. "It wasn't a vision."

"How can you be so sure Mr. Potter? After all you have been tricked . . ."

Remus cut off the rest of that statement when his fist wrapped tightly in the front of Snape's black robe. He pulled Snape sharply toward himself until the Potions Master was teetering above Harry, balancing awkwardly on his toes. "Don't you dare finish that thought!"

From his vantage point, Harry could see that Snape's sallow complection was not improved by the skirmish. Remus rarely lost his carefully guarded composure, but when he did he was a force to be reckoned with.

His fist tightened in the robe before releasing him with a hard shove that sent Snape sprawling gracelessly. Dumbledore watched the display in silence, hoping the two men would get it out of their systems without actual violence.

"You will not mock Harry for his mistake. If we held you accountable for your mistakes Severus, you would be in Azkaban . . ."

Snape's jaw clenched and he drew his wand. "Listen to me Werewolf . . ."

"Enough!" One word from Dumbledore silenced them both, though their eyes still shot daggers in each others direction. It had become obvious that this would not be resolved without his interference. "We all make mistakes, and I hope that we learn from them. Now Harry, how do you know it wasn't a vision?" His eyes turned gentle as he gazed where Harry was nervously fiddling with his sheets.

"I was just me . . . Voldemort wasn't there . . . and my scar didn't burn. I just know . . ." He said before he drank the potions Madam Pomfrey had handed him, grimacing at the taste but relieved when the pain diminished.

"I believe you are correct. That doesn't sound like any of your previous visions." Dumbledore was still concerned by the intensity of the dream, but at least he didn't believe Harry was being careless. "Could you tell us about it?"

Harry didn't want to talk about the dream. They would see enough of his dreams and memories when Occlumency lessons started, but it was still difficult to refuse the Headmaster anything. "I was looking for Sirius, but found Bellatrix Lestrange instead. She held me under Cruciatus . . . and then there was a dementor . . . it was so close . . . I could feel its cold lips . . . smell its foul breath . . . taste death."

Remus could tell in those words that Harry was still blaming himself for his godfather's death. "I would assume that was Snape's . . . calming potion you tasted," he said shooting a smirk at Harry who understood the implication.

Snape's scowl deepened.

"Poppy, can you tell what caused the seizures?" Despite the levity, Remus was concerned.

"Seizure?" Harry looked nervously at the mediwitch.

"There isn't any brain damage or anything else that might cause seizures." Poppy thought for a minute. "Harry did you eat anything while you were lost in the woods?"

Harry remembered how badly he wanted to eat the mushrooms, but he hadn't. "No, nothing."

"Perhaps something else you encountered . . ."

"Are you suggesting that was a reaction to something as simple as a glumbumble sting?" Snape looked incredulous.

"Nothing of the sort – I was thinking more along the lines of the flora. There are several mushrooms and even a moss that can cause similar reactions." Pomfrey was looking to Harry for a reaction. "What about your wounds . . . I know what caused the bites, but what of the scratches?"

"Thorns." There had been thorns on just about everything. Every vine had grabbed and torn at his flesh and clothing.

Poppy's eyes lit up. "What kind of thorns?"

"I don't know . . . sharp ones." Harry gave her a crooked smile.

"The fit, as well as the slow healing could certainly be a reaction to one of the thorns native to the Forbidden Forest and could very well exist outside it as well. We don't see a reaction like that very often. A large amount of the toxin must build up before symptoms get this severe. I'll check and see if I have the potion to fix you up."

A few minutes later Madam Pomfrey returned with a bright orange potion. "Now drink this down and get some rest."

Harry choked on the foul tasting liquid, his face scrunching in disgust. "Ugh . . . that tastes worse than death."

Remus and Dumbledore chuckled.

"If you have no further need of me, I shall be in the dungeons." Snape sent one final glare in Remus' direction, turned on his heel and left.

"I don't want to rest . . ."

"There is nothing to fear Harry. You are safe here." Anxiety was etching lines on Harry's face.

"Safe? I'm safe here?" Harry's hands were tightening into fists. "How can you say that?"

Just days ago Voldemort had walked into the Dursleys' home, destroyed his things and demolished the house itself. Harry thought Dumbledore's claim of safety was a bit unfounded. "Like I was safe at Privet drive . . . like Sirius – like . . ." Harry's voice failed him as anger grew in the pit of his stomach. Like my parents were safe, never made it past his lips.

"Harry," Remus warned.

Harry found his voice again, ignoring the sudden twinge in his scar. "Are Ron and Hermione as safe as I was with the Dursleys?" His voice was shaking with emotion. "How do I know they are safe . . . how do I know I am safe? If it wasn't for that yell . . . they were so close . . . what would that have done to your Prophesy?"

"I did believe you were safe Harry otherwise I never would have made you return to the Dursleys, and as for Miss Granger, she is staying at Grimmauld Place with Ron and the rest of his family. They are as safe as I can provide."

Harry could feel his anger growing, but couldn't understand why. He could hear the Death Eater's hand as it grabbed the knob to his cupboard . . . as though he was still there. He could feel the curses flying past him as he ran invisible through the streets of Surrey. What was it Dumbledore knew that could have prevented it? He was sure there was something . . . "You had wizards watching me all summer, so why is it that at the first sign of danger I was alone?"

The anger burned within him, reminding him of his meeting in Dumbledore's office. If Dumbledore answered him, Harry was unaware of it. Suddenly Harry didn't feel so alone and his scar burned. Somewhere in the darkness there was someone who understood rage. He reached up his hand to rub away the ache on his forehead and finally realized what was happening. Harry took several deep cleansing breaths, forcing his mind to clear. The anger faded almost as quickly as it had come. He once again knew, Voldemort was the one to blame for his pain and loss, and was alone.

". . . Harry!" The intensity in Remus' stare was matched by the concern in Dumbledore's.

Harry bit his lip and blinked a few times. "Sorry, must be all the potions. Perhaps I do need to rest."

"Harry, are you all right? I think we lost you for a minute there."

The burning in his scar had faded completely. "I just got lost in my thoughts," Harry admitted.

A look in Dumbledore's eye said he wasn't quite convinced, but he said nothing.

"Would you mind if I stay with you? You gave me quite a scare." Remus rested a hand on Harry's shoulder, carefully avoiding the mending bones.

"That will be fine," he answered, sending Remus a lazy smile before closing his eyes.

He heard the doors close as the Headmaster left. Harry slowed his breathing, feigning sleep while he thought. He had felt it . . . it had been real . . . but was it Voldemort's anger that welled up within him or was it his own . . . either way he had felt Voldemort encouraging him, enjoying the rising anger. Snape was right. He would have to learn to control his emotions . . .

Harry cleared his mind and focused on each breath. Breathing meditations always seemed to calm him after dealing with his uncle and this was even more important. He could no longer feel the cold emptiness that had embraced him.

"I know you are awake." Remus' voice startled Harry into opening his eyes. "You can breathe as deep as you like, but I will know you aren't asleep as long as your heart is still racing like that."

"I wasn't trying to fool you . . . well okay maybe a bit. I just needed to think."

"You've been through a lot Harry and I won't patronize you by saying that I know how you feel . . . only you know your own mind . . . but you need to remember that we are trying to help you as best we can."

Harry nodded and winced when the movement jostled his shoulder.

"Dumbledore tried to protect you and it backfired . . . but do you think you could have faced Voldemort in your fourth-year, knowing the Prophesy?"

Harry didn't know the answer to that. Could he honestly say that nothing would have been different if he had known the truth? Sirius would still be alive if he had known, but how many other things could have turned out worse? That was the thought that plagued his thoughts as he once again drifted off to sleep.

***

tbc . . .

~Whomping Willow ~